


Rain

by Celticheavens



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-29
Updated: 2009-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticheavens/pseuds/Celticheavens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our favourite priest broods in the presence of rain. Slight angst and suicidal tendencies. (No pairing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

A low rumble resonated ominously through the ridiculously small room. Tendrils of wispy smoke curled lazily in the stagnated humid air before fading away into the enveloping darkness. A salty scent reached his nostrils, and a light breeze playfully tugged at the ends of his robes.

Lifting up his sinful roll of escape to his thin and cracked lips, violet eyes gazed into the rapidly darkening skies. The previously cumulus puffballs in the azure stretch mutated into clumps of dusts, each containing angry pellets from the deities residing above.

He inhaled deeply, enjoying the sensation of choking smoke sneaking down his throat and filling up his lungs, suffocating him for an instant as he held his breath to exacerbate the feeling. A light-headedness washed over his throbbing head, momentarily numbing him from the incessant pain.

Exhaling, his ears caught the sounds of the first wave of attack by the imaginary commanders above. Almost gently, a drop of clear water landed on the windowsill. It laid there unmoving, an innocent crystal reflecting a faint myriad of rainbow-drenched rays into his tired eyes.

The wind goddess twirled gracefully as her dance steps intensified; her elegant leaps turning into sharp twists; soft singing changing into loud wails. The pitiful flora writhed and shook violently in her mercy, as her movements wrenched their flimsy limbs into unnatural angles.

Behind the brittle shield of glass, he watched as the war unfolded. Roaring winds whipped around the greenery, spraying bullets unyieldingly on the unprotected. Trails of leaves tumbled along the damp ground, before being swept up into the air and into the fury of the storm. Gaily painted flowers, once standing tall in the embrace of the sun, now reduced into limp piles of dulled colours; an empty whisper of reminder to their previous glory.

Bright embers cascaded from his cigarette; their specks of light extinguished when impacted with the cold floor. A breath of wind stole through the crack beneath the window, and golden locks swayed in response.

Irritated, a calloused hand reached up to grab his hair roughly, pinning it flat on his scalp while the fingers on his other hand tightened their hold on the white and diminishing stick. His mouth curled unwittingly into a snarl as suppressed memories surged out of their mental prison; embracing their release, rushing into every inch of their host's body.

A flock of birds braced themselves from the unrelenting assault of the elements, struggling against the increasingly strong winds as chilling arrows struck them yet again. Several started to lapse behind the group, their strength and stamina draining, while the rest of their platoon disappeared into the curtain of rain.

Head slightly tilted back, his emotionless orbs gazed into the dusty grey of the evening sky; the unremitting storm a portal to the past.

Coaxed into a slumber of memories by the rhythmic pelting of droplets against the window pane, he felt his soul drift into the body of his younger self, a familiar sight greeting his eyes.

_The sound of rain. The dark viscous pool staining his master's pristine robes. The wooden boards an empty canvas as the undulating liquid carved itself into existence. The same viscid substance marred his smooth delicate hands; slowly snaking down his palms, their serpentine trails binding him._

_A limp body laid visible in front of him. A figure he knew so well; a figure whose features and movements he had tried to memorise when he followed him around daily; a figure whose voice sounded like that of an angel, always calm and loving, always protecting him; a figure who had bestowed upon his undeserving soul the gift of life. A figure who had sacrificed himself for the unworthy soul that was his own._

_His mind a void. He felt his small trembling hands reach out to his motionless master; his heart desperately clinging on to a delusional thread of hope. He felt his bloodied hands contact the soft silks of the high priest, covering the cool flesh of the man he had called father._

Outside, the rain poured down ceaselessly as roars of anger echoed in the desolate skies. A now forgotten length of poison clutched in his hand, a barely visible trail of smoke vacillating in the still air.

_He shook his master once. Twice. Thrice. His pit of fear deepened; his gentle prods evolved into frantic shakes as the cruel realisation struck him._

_He did not remember much then. All he recalled was the path of warm tears intertwining with those of maroon; an intrinsic pattern etched into his skin: unwashable, indelible. A wave of despondence crashed into his being; his airways constricted as painful sobs erupted from his throat, lungs straining when the continuous flow of oxygen was interrupted by the heart-wrenching cries of a boy whose hair shone like that of the sun._

_A flash of lightning; followed almost immediately by an earsplitting boom of thunder. The luminous white of Zeus' weapon a stark contrast against the raven coloured battlefield, illuminating the defined features of the priest that were now contorted with a mixture of grief and agony; a shimmer of tears further betrayed his usual indifferent demeanour._

_His outburst subsided, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste of betrayal and a thirst for revenge. He could feel the blood and tears hardening on his skin; these shackles which bind, and claiming this orphan as a perpetual prisoner of his own past._

_His throat hoarse; his eyes sore; his heart empty. The child crawled next to his master. He wiped away the trickle of blood from the man's mouth before reaching out to brush the light brown bangs from the still smiling face. Slowly, he placed his head on the now red floor, settling himself in a sleeping position amidst the river of blood, facing his mentor. Letting his eyes take in one last look at the only person he would call his family, he willed himself to a dreamless sleep._

_The wrath of the heavens now almost forgotten; the storm receded to a mere drizzle. In the gentle moonlight, a boy slept alongside his deceased master; his radiant gold locks dyed in a shade of suffering, porcelain skin tattooed a gossamer web of red. A boy whose emotions flowed into oblivion when his ephemeral childhood with his saviour was severed. A boy who had crossed the precipice of life into the welcoming arms of death, when the only reason for his existence was snuffed out on a cold stormy night._

He did not notice the rain dwindling. Neither did he notice the howling gusts being tamed to calm breezes as they tickled his bare feet. The cloak had lifted, revealing numerous glistering specks in the sea of black above. Thousands of crystals hung lightly from structures and leaves; floating gently before disintegrating into hundreds of smaller fragments when contacted.

Tossing away the remnants of his cigarette carelessly onto the ground, he reached for another fresh stick, seasoned fingers lighting it in a swift motion. His body cried out in soft ecstasy as the drug worked its magic when he entered his temporary respite.

Instinctively, long fingers reached to the smooth flesh of his cheek; a grunt of disgust voiced when he felt that it was damp. He dragged the back of his hand harshly across his face, relishing the slight stinging sensation when he reopened a cut sustained from the battle earlier.

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he placed his forehead in the palm of his hand, fingers massaging his temples in smooth circular motions. He loathed the rain. Years of defences carefully conjured up in the deep recesses of his mind, shoving abhorrent memories into the back of his head before locking them up and throwing away the key. The result was the cold uncaring exterior that surfaced; a mask concealing the turbulent inner turmoil. What was the point of it all when this arduous task was so easily unravelled by streaks of light flashing across a darkening sky, nightmares awakened by a waft of repugnant scent of rain.

A constant patter of rain continued outside; a melancholic melody, each note entwining the emotional priest.

He crushed the half consumed cigarette in his hand and threw it on the floor maliciously. Leaning back against the wall, he raised one of his palms in front of his face. He could almost see the eminent maroon veins twisting, taunting him. A reminder of the blood of the person who had shown him the meaning of this otherwise meaningless existence, the meaning of love, spilled on, and ultimately by his hands. If it wasn't for him, his master would still be alive.

His lips spread into a wide smile; new streams of tears followed the contour of his beautiful face; his grip on his forehead became vice-like. His laughter reverberated through the empty room. He felt his body convulse as all the pent up anguish and despair escaped from their prison.

Another bolt of lightning sliced across the night sky; a transient glimpse at a young man sitting by his window, laughing in sorrow, drowning in a combination of misery and madness.

Maniacal laughter reduced to silent sobs. Yet another rush of revulsion engulfed him. His heart was still laden with weights of the past, and he was once more struck by a strong sense of self-loathing. He felt so vulnerable, so weak, so _pathetic_. His breathing had evened out; his other hand unknowingly clenched; beads of sweat lined his bangs and face. The aversion he possessed for the rain was surpassed by his odium of this feeble mental strength. His master had always told him to be strong, and here he sat heart washed out by the rain as the storm evoked memories of an event once upon a time yet still as vivid as though they had happened mere hours ago.

Caressing the metallic barrel of his gun, he felt compelled to end it all. Perhaps it would have been better if his master never found him. He would never know what it was like to lose something and his mentor would perhaps, still be alive now. The priest longed for the feeling of the icy claws of the river to drag his then tiny body down; cleansing him of all thoughts and feelings while he awaited his entrance to hell. To the eternity of solace it promised him. All it needed was a simple pull of the trigger: a movement so natural to him that it rivals breathing. The simple anodyne to all his problems.

_Stay strong._

His eyes widened; amethyst orbs suddenly free from the glint of fleeting insanity. The waterfall of hazel framing a kind face; the vibrant orange of a paper airplane against the light blue of the heavens; the crisp sounds of the sutra as it rustled in the wind. His hand recoiled from his weapon as though it had seered his flesh; a seed of guilt growing within him.

The melody faded into the silence of the night, leaving thousands of transparent pearls; a memory of the onslaught of nature. Minuscule droplets of water rolled down the window, leaving behind a part of themselves in their wake. The plants enriched by their survival, stood revitalised in the dim rays of the full moon.

He made a promise. A promise of vengeance.

Exchanging his Smith and Wesson for his lighter, he watched as the flame licked hungrily at the cigarette, the opposite end of the cylinder smouldering, and his physical self gratefully accepted the drug.

He exhaled a puff of smoke into the air. He had a job to do, a promise to fulfill. He had sworn a decade ago to reclaim what was rightfully his, finally completing the final chapter of his past. He would not allow himself to succumb to the temptations of afterlife. Not yet. Until he is able to free himself from the ties of the past, stepping out of the cage he had confined himself in, he knew he would never live in the present. Nothing would get in the way of his goal; for despite weakened moments from the enticing and alluring lie of freedom through death, he would not be a slave to history forever.

Sighing inwardly, he knew it was going to be yet another sleepless night.

In the death of night a lone figure sits under the watchful eye of the moon, his only companions the sparkling diamonds in the celestial heavens. A man with a head of dazzling gold and pale flawless skin untainted by the touch of the devil. A man whose past had long defined his present and shaped his future. A man who hid an array of emotions behind his apathetic front. A man who was still the boy he was a decade ago, struggling to free himself from the penitence of his old guilt, to finally live a life he can call his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from my FF.net account written originally on 29th March 2009 when I was still struggling to find my muse. It was my first and only Saiyuki piece since I've always feared being unable to characterise each person accurately enough. That said, I was inspired on a rainy afternoon while writing in my balcony, and despite not touching the series in four years then, I went ahead and wrote this. Language here is rather awkward (especially in sentence length and punctuation) for it marks the struggles I had with switching between free and academic writing (and the vastly different styles I have for both), but it did allow relax me enough to allowing the penning of a puppyshipping one-shot later in the year. (Quite apt really since it was always Saiyuki that inspires me to write, albeit mostly expository or argumentative pieces.)
> 
> This piece is not meant to be very cohesive to denote the changes in emotions. The flashback occurs between fragments of the present, and although not present in the original piece, I've italicised it for purposes of making the distinction clearer. The original intent was to create a more whimsical quality amidst the confusion. I've taken some liberties with the events that supposedly happened during the flashback, so it follows only loosely (if at all) what happened during that fateful night.There was also a deliberate attempt at not mentioning the names of the characters present. Quoting from my younger self, "Do enjoy it if my English does not appall you."
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Saiyuki (although I would gladly pay my way through to own Genjo Sanzo).


End file.
